


By My Own Hands

by HereticalTransience



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, Established Relationship, Food Porn, Frigga Feels, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki and Natasha have an understanding, Loki has Frigga feels, M/M, Oneshot, Science Bros, Steve is a blushing virgin prude, Tony Stark is a sloppy eater, chess with a Hulk, chess with a god, mother and son bond, slightly citrusy, suspicious Clint is suspicious, we all have Frigga feels, which includes cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1588448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereticalTransience/pseuds/HereticalTransience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having millenia to live enables one to pick up many skills, but sometimes the most unassuming ones we learn carry the greatest lessons. It should come as no surprise that a master of magic possesses many skills, though the exact nature of some of them may come as a shock and a surprise to others. Loki, however, knows that even with the ability to create virtually anything he desires, it's still the things made by one's own hands that are the most important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By My Own Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt I gave to someone else at their request. They never got to it so I tried tackling it myself as a way to break out of writer's block.

“Can he do that?”

“Apparently so.”

“And Stark's fine with it?”

“Apparently so.”

“Loki. Cooking. In Stark Tower.”

“Apparently so.”

“Bruce, are you taking this seriously?”

“Apparently not.” The scientist gave a small, tired smile to the archer. Clint was never going to be comfortable with Loki living with them and he never made any attempt to acclimate to it outside of Tony saying, “My place, my rules,” and enduring a very private and very thorough chat with Natasha. At least the latter has resulted to a kind of detente between the two: Loki kept a civil tongue and left the archer out of any and all pranks and mischief (which had become rather mild and far more funny than the sort of “turning your pillow into a reticulated python and letting it slowly choke you to death” that he had done after first arriving) and Barton stopped trying to kill Loki and more-or-less gave up on the verbal taunts. It was an uneasy sort of peace, but the Avengers weren't exactly the most peaceful crowd.

Right now, though, their resident God of Mischief was in the kitchen on the communal floor, in the midst of something both mundane and fascinating, at least to the Hawk, who was still having trouble parsing the scene in front of him.

“Okay, so cooking. Loki is cooking. Why is Loki cooking?” asked Clint.

“I think if you look a little closer, “ said Bruce, “you'll see that he's actually baking. And he can hear you, you know. You can talk to him like an adult.”

“Why is Loki baking?” The archer's voice had taken on a distinct nervous note by now.

From behind the kitchen counter, Loki shared a brief glance with the scientist, one with a hint of both pity and exasperation in it. 

It was at that moment that Natasha entered the room, clad in her usual training attire of Stark Industries tee-shirt and sweat pants. Walking past the kitchen on her way to the open living room, she paused briefly.

“Can I help you, Lady Natasha?” came the soft, silken voice of the Trickster. 

The spy looked at the slowly forming ball of dough in the god's hands.

“Bread?” she inquired.

“Aye.”

“May I ask why? It's not as though Tony doesn't get everything brought in fresh all the time.”

“Because,” started Loki, glancing up briefly and meeting the redhead's eyes.

“Because?”

“Because.” Natasha and Loki's eyes held for a moment longer, before the spy nodded ever so slightly.

“Because WHAT?!” called the archer, afraid that he was missing something. Somehow Loki and Natasha had developed a kind of non-verbal rapport which tended to upset Clint. Tony had commented on it once and Bruce had offered that it was a result of having to deal with thick-headed idiots constantly, which sent Tony off into rib-splitting laughter until he thought to question whether it was from Natasha having once worked for him (undercover) and Bruce's only reply had been a smile.

Continuing on her way, the spy walked over to her partner. “Clint, it's after three.”

“Uh, yeah? And?”

Sighing, Natasha grabbed Clint's wrist and spun around behind the archer, putting him into a hammerlock, and forcing him forward.

“What the hell, Nat?” he cried.

“Training is at three, every day we're not on duty. Not 'after three,' not 'when I feel like it,' and not 'when I'm done eying up Loki.' Three.” Natasha pushed Clint towards the elevator with Clint's protests trailing behind the pair.

When Bruce caught Loki's glance after the pair had existed the room, he wasn't quite smiling, but his eyes had that lightness they would take on when he was in one of his better moods.

Knowing that, the scientist wandered over to the counter where he could get a better look at the god's progress. Loki had removed the dough from the bowl and was kneading it with the methodical and practiced precision of one who has done a chore many times before and could do it in their sleep. He would push into the dough with the heel of his right hand, pressing the sticky mass down and forward, before flipping it back upon itself, giving it a quarter turn with his left hand, and repeating the process.

“I must admit,” Bruce's calm voice breaking through the near silent working of the god, “I'm kind of surprised that you know how to make bread. Not that I think you're incapable, or anything.” He chuckled sheepishly. “It's just not something you would expect of a prince. You probably had servants and kitchen staff to do that kind of thing.”

Loki nodded, eyes never leaving his work and hands never ceasing their handling of the mass.

“My mother,” Loki's voice caught. Even now he couldn't speak of her without reacting; for him the loss would never be resolved. “My mother,” he began again, quieter this time, “even though she was queen of the realm and head of the castle, never shied from preparing meals for her family. Such as it was.” 

Here Loki's face turned bitter at the reminder that he was never truly part of Odin's family in the way that Thor was, but he carried on. “When Thor and I were much younger she would often allow up into the kitchens while she worked. Thor would, of course, make the most terrific messes before growing bored and demanding to be allowed to leave to partake in mock battles on the training grounds. I much preferred the time alone with her; she would teach me cookery as her mother had taught her when she was young, and not having a daughter of her own, was pleased to be able to teach one of her children, even if he would end up being mocked for partaking of yet another 'womanly' pastime.”

Loki shook his head, trying to clear the painful memories away.

“Regardless,” he continued, “among the many things I learned from her was baking bread. Of course the ingredients of this realm are slightly different than what I am accustomed to, but I have done some research on the internet with the assistance of JARVIS, and I believe the result should be satisfactory.”

“I see,” was all the scientist said in reply. He was somewhat startled yet also pleased; it was unusual for the god to speak so much at once, and even more rare for him to share anything personal. However, he understood the need to share sometimes, even if the memories in question are both bitter and sweet.

The god leaned a little further forward, his dark hair obscuring his face as he concentrated on the pale mound in his hands. He began to shape the dough, carefully rolling and tucking it into as near a perfect sphere as the scientist had ever seen shaped by hand. In fact, he was almost disappointed by the way gravity started to cause it to flatten once the god's hands had left it.

Loki picked up a bottle of oil that had been sitting on the counter and, after uncapping it, poured a small amount into the bowl that had previously contained the dough. He then recapped the bottle before setting it aside and began to tilt the bowl this way and that, coating the inside of it with the oil. Gently lifting the dough, in placed it in the bowl, turning it over once to coat it with the oil, then placed a clean towel over it before setting the vessel near the coffeemaker, which was always kept on warm and full of coffee for Tony's frequent trips to the kitchen whenever he needed a refill. Not that he didn't have his private coffeemaker in his lab, but since Loki had become a fixture in Stark Tower, he somehow found more reasons to actually leave his lab and this behavior had not gone unrecognized by the rest of the Avengers, though they wisely chose not to comment on it.

Turning to the sink, Loki scrubbed his hands then rubbed them dry.

“There is some time to use before I must attend to the dough again” he said to Bruce. “Would you care to join me for a game?” He nodded vaguely towards the open living room, where a table with a chess set on it had become another recent fixture since his arrival.

“Sure, why not,” the scientist replied. “I could do with losing a few rounds.” He gave a slight chuckle.

So far the only one who had even come close to beating the green-eyed male had been Tony, who would sulk for days every time he lost.

“Perhaps you will even capture a piece this time,” drawled the Trickster gamely as the men headed towards the table.

* * *

Loki and Bruce played for a few hours, broken twice by the god getting up to attend to the rising dough: once to punch it down and reshape it, and the second time to turn on the oven before punching down and reshaping the dough again before placing it into a loaf pan and re-covering it with the towel for a final rise.

Their chess games continued on in a companionable manner, Bruce occasionally questioning Loki on a particular bit of strategy he employed during the round and here and there divulging a bit of a tale of one of the god's many battles which he would use as the basis for a game. Neither of them took any particular notice of the others occasionally drifting in and out of the kitchen except for when Clint attempted to lift the towel over the dough, at which point Loki nailed him on the hand with one of Bruce's captured knights. (Later on the scientist would swear that had to have involved magic in some way as there was no direct line from where they were sitting to play to that part of the kitchen which could have been used.)

At the end of another round of the scientist losing, Loki excused himself, rose, and walked to the kitchen. After removing the towel from the dish and inspecting the progress on the dough, he carefully slid the pan into the hot oven and set one of the many timers that were kept near the appliance.

“Shall we have another round?” he called to the scientist.

Bruce laughed quietly. “Thank you but no, I think I've had my share of losing for today. I appreciate the games and the lessons, but there are some project in my lab I need to get back to.”

“Ah,” drawled Loki. 'In that case let me not detain you. However, the bread should be done in an hour or so if you wish to try it.”

“I think I might just take you up on that offer,” he replied heading to the elevator that would carry him down into the warren of the scientific floors.

Loki only nodded in response as the metal doors closed and the elevator whisked the man away. He returned to the living room and, selecting a book from one of the many shelves, settled himself upon one of the surprisingly comfortable designer couches to read for a while.

* * *

Tony stumbled out of the elevator and onto the communal floor. He absentmindedly rubbed at his eyes, it had been a long night and long day of working on a little glitch in one of his suits. Of course, this particular “little” glitch had resulted in all of the suit's component pieces randomly disengaging from each other after firing some of his weapons in a certain sequence. How it had remained undetected throughout all of the testing remained a mystery, and having your only source of protection fall off in the middle of battling yet another round of Doombots had been annoying to say the least. More humiliating had been the fact that Tony had needed to hide behind Steve for the rest of the fight and take a ride of shame back to the tower in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s response vehicles. Which happened to be under the command of a smirking Agent Hill.

Yeah, he was never going to live that one down.

On his way to the common area, he noticed that there was more noise than was usual for this time of day. Generally everyone was off doing, well, whatever the did during the day, and the only times the common area was busy were when Steve was forcing everyone to have a meal together as a “team bonding experience” (and Tony swore he'd punch whoever it was that taught the soldier that phrase), on movie nights, or the rare times they needed to have a meeting outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. work. Also, something else was different, but Tony couldn't quite put his finger on it. It seemed familiar somehow...

As he drew closer to the kitchen, it hit him.

“Hey, has Captain Sparklypants been cooking?” he called out, in a not-so-subtle announcement of his presence.

“Actually no,” the captain replied, just as Tony rounded the corner and came into sight. “This is Loki's work.”

“Loki's work? What the hell...?” called the baffled engineer.

Steve, Bruce, and Natasha were sitting on stools by the kitchen counter, each with a plate in front of them. On the other side of the counter stood Loki, who was studiously cutting perfect slices off a loaf of bread that still had a few barely-there wisps of steam coming off it. He was setting the pieces on individual plates and passing them across the counter to the waiting Avengers, who took turns spreading butter, jam, and other goodies on them. Bruce, however, declined any toppings and had his plain.

Natasha gave Loki a long look, to which the latter sighed before cutting another slice and adding it to a plate. The redhead gave it a thick coating of peanut butter and grape jelly before holding it over her shoulder to the nervous-looking archer standing at arm's length behind her.

Seeing that none of his teammates seemed to be falling over frothing at the mouth, Clint greedily dug into this impromptu open-faced PB & J sandwich and nearly moaned. Natasha hid her smirk by taking another bite of her raspberry jam covered slice.

Tony stood there in open-mouthed awe, unable to process the sight in front of him. Loki. Cooking. And feeding people. And those people eating. Eating Loki's food. The Avengers. Eating something their once-enemy had made. And not dying. For a moment he thought of asking JARVIS to run a scan of the room the make sure that what he was witnessing was real.

It took another minute for him to realize that everyone was staring at him with varying looks of amusement or annoyance.

The engineer shook his head, his momentary lapse of cool quickly buried under his usual facade of loudmouth bravado.

“So Lokes is cooking and no-one invited me to the party? I'm crushed. Also, you're all evicted. Seriously, JARVIS, remind me to have them all thrown out.”

'I will be sure to add that to your list of the other times you have threatened to removed them when you have not been adequately notified of food appearing in the tower, Sir,” his A.I. intoned dryly. 

“Sass, JARVIS, sass. I take note.”

“If you say so, Sir.”

'Anyhow,” the brown-haired man continued, “What's on the menu? Looks like bread.”

“As astute and observant as ever,” Loki sighed, in his best 'why do I put up with these inferior creatures' voice.

“Oh, well, you know me, Mister Observation,” retorted the billionaire.

“Is that why you missed your suit falling apart?” shot Clint around a mouthful of bread.

There were some snickers and open laughter from the gathered Avengers.

“Okay, that was ONE TIME and I've already been working on the issue, birdbrain.”

The archer muttered something incomprehensible before tapping Natasha on the shoulder with the empty plate, which she took from him and set in front of herself on the counter.

“You joining us, Tony?” asked the captain. “It's really good.”

The engineer though for a moment.

“Yeah, why not.”

He walked further into the kitchen and Loki began to cut another slice. Putting it on a plate, he turned to the shorter man.

“How do you take it, Anthony?”

“Oh, you know me, any way I can get it.” He gave the green-eyed Trickster a leer that garnered him an eyeroll in return. “Just surprise me,” he said.

Loki nodded and spread some real butter on the slice, waiting a moment for it to melt from the residual warmth, before adding some honey and spreading it out.

“This,” he said cautiously, “is how my mother always would always serve her freshly-baked bread to Thor and I when we were younger.” He extended the plate towards Tony almost shyly, as though fearing the man wouldn't accept it.

The room went silent except for the nearly detectable breathing of its occupants. If Bruce had been surprised at Loki's mentioning of his past and his mother earlier, in a one-on-one conversation, hearing him do so in front of all the Avengers was a record-setting event, and judging from the overwhelming silence the comment had generated, everyone else was equally aware of the fact.

Tony locked eyes with the god for a moment and then took the plate, ignoring the slight gasps from the assembled team. Picking up the slice of bread, he bit into it enthusiastically, not minding or even really noticing the rivulets of melted honey and butter that ran into his immaculately kept goatee and threatened to drip from his chin.

“Oh. My. GOD,” he moaned in a way so obscene that the captain actually blushed to hear it. “OH MY GOD...” 

Loki just looked at him uncertainly while the rest of the room carried on with their disbelieving stares.

Tony chomped through the bread so fast he began to choke on it. Loki patted him awkwardly on the back, still unsure of just what was going on with the genius.

Once the man could breathe again, he returned to staring at Loki, empty plate still clutched in one hand.

“Loki, that's... My god, that's like just so amazing. Like, you really make this? By yourself? In my kitchen? That's incredible! Why didn't you tell anyone you could cook? Capsicle, no offense, but there's only so much 40's fare a guy can stand and only so many veggie meals... “here he broke off to give his science bro a quick look that left the man smiling, “that a red-blooded man such as myself can stand. But you! You can do this and it's just the most amazing thing I've had and I'm totally getting more right? You're not going to hold out on me now, Loki-doki, are you?” 

The inventor gave Loki his best attempt at pleading puppy eyes (which, admittedly, was pretty convincing), so Loki turned back to the counter and began preparing another piece. He turned around, freshly buttered and honeyed bread in hand, intending to place it on the place still within Tony's grasp, when the man quickly darted forward and took an enormous bite right out of the slice.

Tony kept his gaze matched with that of the god while the chewed thoughtfully. Therefore he was the only one to see the glint of mischief that replaced the look of apprehension that has previously shaded the god's eyes.

“Anthony,” he purred, “you're making quite a mess.” The taller man reached forward, slightly cupping the shorter man's chin in his hand and swiping a thumb down the sticky trail left by the honey before bringing the hand up to his own mouth and slowly licking the digit.

Clint gagged in an unnecessarily exaggerated manner, Nat and Bruce tried to conceal tiny smiled with different degrees of success, and Steve hid his face in his hands.

“Come on guys, can't you take it somewhere else?” came the muffled voice of the soldier.

“An excellent idea,” replied the god, grabbing Tony's wrist in a gentle grasp. In a flash of gold the two had disappeared.

* * *

“I will never, EVER, get tired of that,” said the billionaire as they appears in his bedroom.

Loki just gave him a fond look before pulling the man into his arms and rewarding him with a long, gentle kiss.

“You taste of honey,” he purred into the mortal's ear before turning his attention to the lobe and giving it a few small nips.

Tony wasn't even conscious of dropping the treat as his arms came up to enfold the god. Somehow food had suddenly become unimportant in the face of the fact that the god of mischief was doing his best to find as many sensitive spots on the inventor's neck as quickly as possible.

“I think,” he said, once he was able to catch his breath after a particularly vicious flurry of kisses to the hollow of his throat, “that we can make a few other messes...”

The god looked up from his work of leaving a spectacular hickey on the engineer's throat and, grinning like the devil himself, pushed the man back onto the bed, following along and straddling the smaller man's hips.

“I do believe we're in agreement, _Tony_...”

“Oh fuck, say that again, Lokes.”

“Tony. _Tony_. TONY...” he purred. “You should have finished that second piece of bread,” he whispered in between giving licks to Tony's goatee and feeding the man with honeyed kisses, “you're going to need the energy if you hope to keep up with me.”

“Oh. Fuuuuuuck...” Tony moaned.

“Exactly,” said the god.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, my second posted attempt at FrostIron AND getting away from the constraints of writer's block. Also slowly working my way back into writing more explicit things. XD Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. =3


End file.
